How long had Ganta been dead now? Time meant nothing to those who were not living, though for Ganta his time in the afterlife had not been peaceful. His mate had passed, but he had been unable to reach her. His only daughter had passed as well, and though Ganta had sought to make amends with Philomena his daughter did not wish to speak with him. So Ganta had been wandering, aimless, with the hope that maybe he might find peace someday. Death was supposed to be peaceful, wasn’t it? No, not for him. He had lost everything and more on the day that he died. He never expected death to feel so lonely… But then, when everything seemed at a loss, there was something else at long last. He was in the mortal realm, able to eat and feel full without actually touching the physical food. But that did not bring Ganta happiness. He could see the mortals but he could not interact with them as he had hoped. He had seen his granddaughter, see how her orange and yellow markings were a throwback to his own. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, not wanting to continue the feud between the Lore and Abraxas lines. It should have been something that died with him… There was so much guilt for what his death had done to his family… and nothing would ever, ever make that okay. Sometime after the feast, Ganta wandered, heading back to the lands he had once claimed for Dragoste. He walked under the familiar weeping willows. He hadn’t even meant to touch any of the living, expecting it to be a wasted effort anyway when he accidentally stumbled across a field mouse and well… one moment he was a ghost, the next he was looking up at a world that was so much bigger than he was. Ganta drew in a breath and, for once, it wasn’t an unnecessary one. He shivered and shuddered, letting out a squeak of shock. “What… what the actual fuck?” He examined himself, realizing once more he could feel things, was warm, and… was the mouse? He scurried toward a nearby tree and stood on one of the willow roots. “I possessed this mouse? But… why?” He furrowed his brow. “This is… so strange…” He lifted his gaze skyward. “Not that it matters… I’m still alone…” "Talk," 'Think.'

He didn't know what was happening. Or how it happened. One minute he was in Somnium, and the next his world seemed to shift and the wasteland he'd been walking through had shifted into a place he vaguely recognized. Confused, the pale serpent made his way through the veil and emerged into a place where a feast was being had and many wolves were gathered. A...festival? It seemed like nobody could see, hear, or feel him. And likewise, he couldn't make contact with anyone. At some point, the most he could do was move small objects, but still, it didn't do much to make his presence known.

Frustrated, he left the festivities and went into the weeping woods. There, he found a lone wild cat. A Maine coon. Pure white in color. The alabaster devil paid it no mind and continued to walk past, that is until the little beast followed his path. He ignored it for a time, but no matter where he went, it followed. It irritated him enough to the point he turned and aimed a kick at it, and upon making contact, something happened.

One moment he was...himself. The next, he wasn't. "What the hell?" He looked up from the forest floor, feeling like something was different. On closer inspection, he realized he had taken possession of the cat. Weird...

Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. And when he looked, he noticed it was a mouse. While he normally didn't have any interest in such small creatures because they were hardly a bite for a wolf, the feline he had become had a higher prey drive. Dropping into a crouch, he stalked closer to the mouse, though the wolf side of him wasn't too keen on hunting right now. Still, the feline instincts drove him to continue stalking. Slowly. Quietly. Until he was in a prime pouncing position. Tail silently swayed behind him, and when he felt ready, he pounced.

The once-wolf couldn’t wrap his head around why he was brought back to the mortal plain. One moment he had been a ghost and the next? He had seemingly taken control of a mouse through possession… Ganta drew in a breath, tasting air again for the first time in ages. Maybe he should have been happy that he’d been given a second chance in this world, if only for a small period of time. At least he assumed so anyway. There was no telling how long he and the other spirits would be allowed to roam the world of the living. He wished he could have felt happy, and fulfilled, but the weight of his past mistakes weighed on him. Ganta would never be able to rest peacefully, not after what his decisions had done to his family. He kept his gaze on the stars, quiet, waiting until something changed in the air and his blood started to run cold. Something was wrong. He sniffed the air and, just as the feline got ready to pounce he caught wind of it. Ganta lunged forward, spinning to face his opponent much as he would as a wolf. Only this time he was no wolf… he was a squeaker… and one that had its small, beady gaze on the wild cat. “Hey, I may look like a snack, but I’m not going to be one! Back off, cat!” "Talk," 'Think.'

He missed his mark. His paws landed on the bark instead as the mouse avoided his pounce. The feline instinct told him to catch the mouse, but the Sin part of him forced it to stop the moment he heard that voice. He hadn't heard it in what felt like forever. How many years had it been since he died? When had Ganta died? The boy should've still been alive, no? He wasn't sure how much time had passed...everything had happened so long ago. "Ganta? Is that you?" He questioned in surprise. He pulled himself into a sitting position, forcing the cat part of him at bay. He didn't know why or how he had been able to possess this creature, or why Ganta had chosen a mouse if he knew anything about it. But chances were it was accidental, too.

"You should still be alive. Why are you a mouse? What shit did you get into that brought you into this position...?" Gods he hadn't spoken to him in so long. His questions may have sounded harsh, but in all honesty, he was glad to see his son. He never got the chance to do right by them the way he wanted to before Hellstrom fell. Before he fell in combat against Cypress. The time for that was likely well over, but at least he had this chance...sort of.

The cat reigned it in and, to his surprise, it spoke in a familiar voice. How long had it been since he heard that voice? Ganta froze for a moment, shocked before he managed to squeak out in a questioning voice: “Dad?” He had known his father had fallen in a death match against another… but he never thought there would be a day they crossed paths again. At least, if they had, he expected it to be in Somnium, not here on the mortal plane. He flicked his ears back, a frown worn on his face, as he answered his old man. “I would assume I’m a mouse for the same reason you are a wild cat. I was a spirit but somehow I’m back here, in Boreas… And well, I guess I didn’t see the mouse. Next thing I know I’m in its body.” He sighed. Then came the hard part. Why he was here… “As for what happened, well… I had made a pack. Just like how Hellstrom hadn’t been around long before its fall Dragoste was also targeted.” He shook his head. “I… I lost the pack and, due to my stubborn pride, I was killed. I hurt my mate, my children… Neither of them wants anything to do with me anymore… and as far as I know only one of my grandchildren is still alive but…” Ganta sighed. “I fucked up everything. I had it all… and I wasn’t strong enough to keep my loved ones safe.” He glanced back up at his father. “I guess my punishment is to walk alone in death. I haven’t seen Roza… at all…” He twitched his whiskers. “What of you? Has mom found you yet…?” He had known that Arietta had withered away after Sin’s loss. Dutiful and bound to him. Surely she had been there for his father? "Talk," 'Think.'

"Dad?" The cat-Sin solemnly nodded, finally understanding after Ganta mentioned how he got to be a mouse. Whatever was at play here was likely affecting more than just them. Those who had passed on over the years were likely experiencing the same thing, and he couldn't recall anything this strange really happening before...except for maybe once, but it wasn't to this extent. He sat and listened to Ganta's brief story. At one point, he had a pack. And just like his own, it had fallen far too quickly. Only Ganta had fallen in that fight, whereas Sin had fallen in a literal fight to the death. Had he been foolish to accept that challenge? Yes. He had to admit. But at the time, his hubris and the fact he felt like he could take on anything at the time had been his downfall.

"It seems you and I weren't so different, after all." He mused. Tail swayed behind him in thought as he looked down at his son. Figuratively, of course. "I lost everything too. Though my situation was different...I killed someone. And in turn, her mate got his revenge. Though I suspect even his victory was for naught. It's not like Arian was going to return from the dead because of my death. And you? Stubbornness and pride seem to be pretty strong in our blood. The Armada was a proud lot, if not a bunch of cocky bastards. But the power of the Armada was a force to be reckoned with, I'll give them that. But like all things, that power was bound to end someday. And we are all destined to fall." He was glad it was in combat, and not as some old senile fool in his den.

“What of you? Has mom found you yet…?” His eyes flashed briefly with pain before looking away. Arietta...what had become of her? He hadn't seen her in so long...he swallowed. "I...have not seen her...I'd like to think that she lived out the rest of her days with you or your siblings before coming to find me. Though if that wasn't the case, then I am certain she went to a better place that is deserving of her, instead of following me into Hell."

After Ganta had explained what had become of him, his father’s comment earned him a small nod. As a youth Ganta had sought to live a path different from his father, trying to act as though they weren’t of the same blood. And yet? They weren’t so different. They were still family, and Ganta regretted not spending more time with the man. Sin wasn’t so bad, really. A bit power-hungry, but given where they came from was that really so surprising? Even Ganta had ambitions for a pack back then. No, they were a father and son, sure enough. He gave a small, somber nod as Sin told him of his fall. “You’re not wrong.” Ganta said softly. “As packs rise, they fall too. Some quickly, far too quickly… but that is the way of things, I’m afraid.” He fell quiet, letting Sin speak once more as his pale gaze became sorrowful. “I wish I could say she did… she wouldn’t come with me after your death… or anyone, as far as I knew. Her loyalty to you was unrivaled.” He lowered his gaze. Thinking of Arietta, how she had likely withered away, wasting away to a corpse… It pained him. “I’m sure she’s still looking for you, you know.” He told his dad. “Even if she’s in another plane. Mom loved you a lot, that much was plain to see.” He fell quiet for a moment, then sighed. “I think I went to hell too. I’ve yet to find Roza, and though I saw my daughter…” He fell quiet, his gaze seeming distant. Yeah, maybe they weren’t so different after all. “...do you ever wonder… if there is a way for us to come back? To start over?” The man asked his dad, shifting his gaze back to him. "Talk," 'Think.'